your aunt to be considered. Ought you not to stay and take care of her?"

Gordon looked perplexed. He had quite lost sight of her.

"Then it would, I think,” added Herbert, "be a great pity for us to break up our little establishment here for so short a period as three years."

"But if this gentleman requires the house" began Gordon. "Only a small part of it," hastily explained Herbert, “and that merely for a year."

"No doubt it's selfishness on my part, wishing to keep you here," said Gordon, presently, in a voice which spoke of various and conflicting feelings; "but we have been so happy together."

"We have, James," answered Herbert, grasping his hand with emotion, and then turning suddenly away, as if afraid to trust himself to continue the subject.

"Have you spoken to Sir Edward of your intentions?" inquired Gordon, after a moment's pause.

"Not yet; I wanted to tell you first."

"Ah! then I may safely leave the matter in his hands," returned the other, with an expression of relief."He will use all his influence to try and get you to alter your decision."

"That cannot be !" said Herbert, setting his lips firmly together. Well, we shall see," thought Gordon, as he slowly left the apartment; “unless I am mistaken in my judgment of Sir Edward, his arguments will prove unanswerable."

But a few days later he was forced to confess that he had been mistaken; the baronet's earnest and affectionate persuasions and appeals having been quite as unavailing as his own.

Mr. Snapson received the news with every outward manifestation of civil regret, though it caused him much internal satisfaction.

Hitherto he had utterly failed in inducing Albert to adopt that proud and reserved manner towards his subordinates which he considered so indispensable for a person of his substance and importance; and this he ascribed, perhaps with reason, to the influence which Herbert unconsciously exercised over him; but though their visit to London had not had the desired effect of lessening that influence, it would be strange, indeed, he argued, if it were to survive an absence of three years!

Albert was himself extremely amazed and indignant when he was informed of Herbert's plans, and freely expressed his disapproval of them.

When, however, he found that his impetuous expostulations brought about no change in the arrangements, he altered his tone, and declared, much to his father's horror and dismay, that he and Henry would go with him!

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My dear Albert," exclaimed Mrs. Snapson, who was listening to him as he made this, proposal, which he did with the utmost seriousness, "do you know what you are talking about?"

"Of course I do, mamma," he answered, opening his eyes very wide at the question; "I think it would be a capital plan. What say you, papa? Here, you know, we are neither of us any use to any one; but out there we should find many ways of helping Mr. Seymour."

"I'm afraid I must decline your services," said Herbert, playfully stroking him on the head. "It would be far too great a responsibility for me to take charge of

"Now, don't be cross," coaxingly interrupted the lad; adding in a confidential tone, "if you will agree to our going, I'll soon get papa's consent."

"You are reckoning without your host there, my boy," cried Mr. Snapson, looking almost as much terrified as if the thing were really settled. Do you suppose you should ever get me to countenance you in such a mad freak as this?"

"Yes. Why not, papa?" asked Albert in perfect simplicity. "I'm sure I see no harm in it."

"If Henry wishes to make a fool of himself," replied his father, beginning as usual to vent his spleen upon his unoffending step-son, "there is no reason why you should do the same."

"How have I been making a fool of myself?" demanded Henry of his mother, in rather a vexed tone.

He had entered the room just in time to hear Mr. Snapson's complimentary observation regarding himself.

Before the lady could reply, Albert had rushed up to him, and, seizing him by the hand, exclaimed excitedly,

"What is your opinion, Henry? would you like to go?"

"Like to go where ?" asked Henry, in undoubted ignorance of his meaning.

"To Africa-with Mr. Seymour and me."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said the young man, laughing and shrugging his shoulders.

"Don't you agree with me in thinking that it would be a pleasant way of spending a year or two?" persisted the lad.

"I should be sorry to try it," replied his brother, with a comical expression of disgust.

"Would you?" in apparent surprise-"why?"

"Because I prefer being where I am; and you would, too, I suspect, if you knew the sort of life you would have to lead."

Mr. Snapson nodded assentingly—it was almost the first token of approbation that Henry had ever received from him.

But Albert was by no means convinced by his brother's argument. "It's a great pity, Henry," he said, rather contemptuously, “that you should be so tame-spirited-there's scarcely a particle of energy or enterprise in your nature, I believe; I do wish you would be a little more adventurous, old fellow."

The "old fellow" laughed very unconcernedly. He was quite inured to Albert's candid exposition of his character, and never attempted to defend himself from his good-humoured, though often inconvenient attacks.

"It is very absurd of you to call Henry tame-spirited," remarked the impulsive Arabella, firing up at the imagined insult to her favourite brother, "merely because he―"

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Nonsense, Arabella," interposed her mother, with a warning glance in the direction of Mr. Snapson, who was saying something in an earnest, suppressed voice to Herbert; "why should you take up every word the child utters in that serious fashion? You might have known he was only joking."

"I can't endure such jokes," muttered the proud girl below her breath. "Tame-spirited, indeed!" with a curl of her lip; "how can he be otherwise, poor fellow?"

She was the more irritated at the epithet from the fact of her having been accustomed to employ it herself, when accusing Henry of weakness and subserviency in yielding such implicit submission to Mr. Snapson's authority, instead of openly rebelling against many of his tyrannical impositions.

CHAPTER LXXIX.

PENRUTHVEN MOUNT.

"The gentle wave

Kissed, with a sweet embrace, the seaworn beach,
And the wild song of winds came o'er the waters;
The mingled melody of wind and wave

Touched like a heavenly anthem on the ear,
For it arose a tuneful hymn of worship."

LONGFELLOW.

"A generous friendship no cold medium knows."

BEFORE taking leave of Mr. Snapson, Herbert promised him that he would use all his influence with Albert to prevent him from pursuing the subject which just then occupied his mind.

It was not easy to persuade the high-spirited and much-indulged lad that what he now proposed was beyond the limits of reason; for, accustomed as he had been to have every whim gratified, he could not understand being thwarted in the present instance.

When at last he saw that it would be useless to persist in his determination, he sank into a low and dejected state, from which Herbert found great difficulty in rousing him.

"You must not give way like this, my dear Albert," said his friend, throwing his arm around him-they were alone together in Herbert's study—and lifting up his face, which had been buried in his hands, "or else you will make yourself ill, and then your father will regret that you had ever seen me."

"I shall never be able to get on without you," replied the boy, with passionate emphasis-"never!"

And the tears which he had hitherto successfully fought against burst forth in a perfect torrent.

Try and bear it like a man, my poor Albert," said Herbert, in tones which showed that he could hardly maintain his own composure. "For my sake," he whispered softly, on finding that he still remained overwhelmed with grief. "You know it is far worse for me than for

you."

"How is it worse for you?" inquired the boy, looking up with quivering lips.

"Because I am leaving every one I love behind me," was the tremulous answer, " and shall soon be a solitary stranger in a strange land; whereas you, my dear Albert, will still have all your friends about you

"Not all, if you are gone," said the lad, plaintively; "no one else cares whether I do right or wrong."

"You mustn't say that."

"But it's true. Arabella regularly scoffs at religion and religious people; while mamma only troubles herself about what looks well in the eyes of her own grand relations; and as for papa—”

"Hush, Albert!" said his friend, in a tone of gentle reproof; "you are forgetting the fifth commandment.”

"I expect I shall forget it far oftener when you are away," he replied, impetuously.

"Why so?" asked Herbert, in some surprise.

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If you can't keep me straight, nobody can."

Keep you straight?" repeated Herbert, scarcely understanding his meaning.

"Yes," continued Albert, dejectedly, "it will be quite useless trying to conquer my faults alone. I thought you would have helped me;

but now

He stopped with a gesture of impatience, and, throwing himself disconsolately back in his chair, took out his handkerchief and rubbed his eyes with it.

Do you suppose you have any faults?" questioned Herbert.

"To be sure I have-hundreds!" was the characteristic reply, accompanied by a glance of extreme astonishment.

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And do you really wish to conquer them?"

"Yes, but it's not much good-the more I want to get rid of them the stronger they become."

This was to Herbert an unlooked-for admission; as, notwithstanding Albert's perfect candour and the unconstrained freedom with which he expressed himself on every other subject, he had always avoided applying the young man's instructions in any way to himself.

"Have you ever tried to get rid of them?" inquired Herbert, with awakened interest.

"Indeed, I have," in a very desponding tone.

"And how did you set about it, my dear Albert?"

"Oh! I made up my mind that I would turn over a new leaf, and never speak cross to Arabella, or force Henry to do what he doesn't like; but the fact is, I found it more difficult than I expected, and now I am not a bit better than I was before."

"I quite understand that," said Herbert, seriously; "it's no easy matter endeavouring to make a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.” "Is that me?" demanded the boy, in his quaint and simple fashion; "do you call me a corrupt tree?"

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'Yes; you, and I, and every one. We are all by nature evil, we hav all gone astray; there are none righteous; for however much we may outwardly reform our conduct, the heart remains unchanged, and we are still sinners in God's sight. Therefore, until we perform that one simple act which Himself has commanded we may be said to have done literally nothing."

"What act do you refer to?" eagerly inquired Albert.

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You scarcely need to be told," returned the young man, taking up his little Bible, and opening it at St. John vi.; "but I will read you Christ's own reply to those who asked Him what they should do that they might work the works of God,-'Jesus answered and said unto them, This is the work of God, that ye believe on Him whom He hath sent." "

"Is that all?" questioned Albert, after a short pause.

“Is it not enough? To believe in Christ, you know, implies a great deal."

"Does it?" rather listlessly.

"It shows that, having discovered our lost and ruined condition, as